


Take Your Time

by ronia



Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: Fencing, Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, Male-Female Friendship, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 04:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18066203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronia/pseuds/ronia
Summary: Even after Ohtori, Miki and Juri don't easily find fulfillment.Written for theUtenafuture-themed zineAbsolute Destiny Post-Apocalypse





	Take Your Time

The night was deep enough that windows were just starting to turn gray. As they had parted ways, as they had each walked their own paths out of the tower, Miki had felt it all slowly begin to slip from him. He still knew it was there, everything that had happened from the moment Tenjou Utena had appeared with her own rose crest ring. But the details were melting from his mind. It was a disconcerting sensation, and he knew, somehow, that if he returned to his dormitory, if he let himself close his eyes, he would open them later and recall none of it. He had walked along the dark campus, the empty buildings so silent and still, and their hollowness frightened him.

Miki stopped at the music building, stepped up into the doorway and put his hand on the doorknob. He'd figure it would be locked at this hour, but he had just wanted to rattle the door, to try to show himself it was all really there, not a dream, or a plywood set. To his surprise, the door opened, into the main hall, pitch black at this time of night. It confirmed the building was real, but this somehow unsettled him further.

Yet he followed the familiar path up to the familiar room. It was empty, of course, except for the grand piano. Miki took a seat at the bench, but put his hands in his lap, and set his gaze up, over the piano. He couldn't make out the far side of the room in the dark, just the gray windows. Images played behind his eyes, shadows rising up from the dark, the outlines of Himemiya in the garden, his sister fumbling over the keys –

"It's a little late, isn't it, Miki?"

He gasped at the voice, pulling himself out of his stupor. At first he imagined he could see who was at the door. Another silhouette, he pictured the pointed edges of her bobbed haircut, the wide hem of her uniform skirt. But he recognized the voice. It wasn't hers.

"Juri-san?" he asked, startled. "You knew I was here?"

He heard Juri's footsteps as she crossed the room, her edges becoming distinct, the soft orange tint of her hair just barely brushing the darkness. "Do you mind if I join you?" she asked.

Miki caught himself nodding, despite the dark. "Of course not, Juri-san," he answered. And then, with a touch of weariness in it, "The music classroom isn't just for playing the piano."

Juri moved around him, and took a seat on the far end of the piano bench, facing away from the keys. They sat in silence, together, at first. Though he still couldn't really see her, sitting that way had a pleasant familiarity to it. They had spent plenty of time together in the Student Council hall, waiting to hear from their president, or just using it as a retreat from the outside world. It had been one of his favorite spots on campus – after this room, in any case. Though strangely, it too seemed to be fading from his mind. Now, he couldn't quite picture the view from the hall's wide balcony any more, or the high, arched ceilings.

He wondered if Juri expected him to play the piano. But her thoughts seemed to follow his, instead.

"Do you remember when you first joined the Student Council?"

Miki blinked, suppressing a strange urge to laugh. "I was terrified of you then." 

"You're not terrified of me anymore?"

He turned his head to look at her, even though he could barely make out her face in the dark. Miki briefly imagined the small, knowing smile she often had, and he thought it must be there now. He didn't answer her, and after a few seconds, he heard a brief, fluttering laugh.

"That's all right Miki. I remember you seemed younger then, like this little baby bird that was going to get caught between Touga and Saionji's antics."

"Smash the world's shell."

"Mmm," came her response. He thought he could feel her moving beside him, though he still couldn't see what, if anything, she was doing in the dark.

"I asked you to have a cup of tea with me. I'd never heard your voice before, even in fencing club."

"I think I talked to you a few times before in fencing club, Juri-san." 

"Mmm," she answered again. "Maybe I just forgot."

There was a soft clink on the bench next to him. "Let's have another drink, Miki." Miki reached out to the space between them, expecting to find that she had set a thermos down on the bench, and stunned to find a flask there instead.

"Juri-san, I – I'm too –"

"Young?" There was another, now a clap of laughter. "I think I know this, Miki.

Even when we do grow up, we'll still always be too young."

* * *

"I can't imagine Ohtori without you, Juri-san."

Juri smiled at Miki. He probably meant it. And she was also sure he would barely feel her absence in a week or so. She reached out, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Just try to keep up the fencing club, all right?" She glanced up, over him. Miki was the only one to come to see her off, helping her carry her bags and pile them into the waiting taxi. It was no surprise to her – she had only ever allowed her popularity at a distance, after all, and she was sure that like Miki, all those admirers she was dimly aware of would soon be just as dimly aware of her. She could spot, with a glance back to the gates, a small collection of schoolgirls gathered just on the other side, bunched into a small crowd, mostly talking among themselves. But one, silhouetted in the sunlight, was clearly facing them.

Apparently there would be no last goodbye. That was probably for the best.

She turned her eyes back to Miki. "I put a lot of work into that club. I'd like to know it doesn't fade too quickly."

Miki nodded. "Of course I will. I'll report on my progress if you –"

"That won't be necessary, Miki." She clapped his shoulder. "Have a good year. I know we'll see you soon."

And not to linger on sentimentality, Juri stepped away, shoving the last bag in her hand across the backseat of the taxi and taking a seat alongside it. Miki stayed standing where he was as she closed the door, and though the windows were tinted so he couldn't see her, Juri watched him, as he still didn't step away, at least not until the taxi had turned a corner and he had slipped out of sight.

Somehow, Juri had never imagined it would be so different from Ohtori. She had already had private living quarters on campus – she really lived in an apartment, not a dorm room. She had already been working regularly, maintaining her own schedule of appointments with designers and photographers and paying her own expenses. Her teachers had held no real authority, and she had rarely attended classes.

The last part seemed strange to her, in retrospect. How could she have so rarely attended classes? She'd had top marks, and under everything, Ohtori was a school, wasn't it?

Maybe the difference was the power she had carried around campus. She still had some of that power – she was beautiful, poised, and wickedly intelligent. She appeared in posters that lined the trains she rode, or were displayed in the shops she visited. But anonymity was a force to be reckoned with now. She had never thought of herself as someone who valued popularity and recognition, they were just byproducts of her ambitions. If she wanted to be captain of the fencing team, to achieve outstanding academic success, to maintain the identity she had constructed to keep herself from slipping into yearning or regret, attention was going to come along with it. But she never strove for attention itself.

Now that she didn't have it, now if she wanted that attention, she'd have to fight for it – Juri had to decide whether it was something she wanted, after all. And what either answer would mean for that identity she'd so carefully curated.

At first, Juri continued modeling simply because it was easy. She already knew photographers and designers, already has a reputation. There was very little that she has to build up from scratch. But when she wasn't returning to Ohtori at the end of it, the work felt so much emptier than it had before. When in front of a camera, she barely spoke. Those men who lavished her with gifts and praise never wanted to hear her own thoughts or opinions. They wanted her to keep working, to keep being the object they could market to others – anything she felt, any word she spoke, would detract from her long red hair, her tall frame, her easy elegance that could be used to inspire fantasies of beauty and success in others. Even with her face in posters or shop windows, the illusion only worked if no one really knew her. While still at Ohtori, she'd had the school to return, the attention of those who knew her as Arisugawa Juri, fencing club captain, top student, Student Council member –

Once, she had stopped when she saw her face in a display case above an array of perfume bottles. In the photo she had a soft smile, her eyes shyly averted, her bright hair floating in some unseen breeze, and collected around her red rose petals were falling like raindrops.

It nagged at Juri for days, the uneasy familiarity, reminding her of another face she couldn't quite place.

So she turned to other options. With the contacts she had, it wasn't hard to find jobs in advertising and marketing, in buying for stores and designers. She had top grades and the prestige of her school and glowing recommendations on her side. It might have been enough to get her anything she wanted.

"What do you want to do?" It was a question asked over and over. Before she had easily set herself goals. They were, after all, a good alternative to desires. Yet she was stunned to find that now, she wasn't sure how to answer that question. The first words that came to her were satisfaction, excitement. She didn't know how she would find that in an office, looking at clothing or marketing perfume.

But it couldn't only be about what she wanted. So she took those jobs. She worked in office, had drinks with her colleagues. When she had saved up the money, she tried her hand at other options, something that might give her that spark she was looking for – reading scripts, looking at cameras. She would watch courtroom dramas on television and then read law books in the library, and then return to her job the next day. Work into the evening, and return alone to her apartment to cook a meal and read a book and hear nothing but the distant traffic in the street below.

It was monotonous, and anonymous, and with every option in the world she felt she couldn't break out of it.

And then, one Saturday, she broke it the only way she knew how. She put on a long coat, sunglasses, and a kerchief to cover her hair. She caught a train, and then a taxi, finally arriving late in the afternoon. Somehow, she thought, someone might stop her at the gate. That under her glasses and kerchief, someone might recognize her, shout her name as she passed. But no one even looked at her. The girls in their uniform skirts and blouses looked so young, younger than she ever remembered being when she was at Ohtori. A group of boys kicked around a football, knocking it toward her.

She stopped it with her foot, and they shyly retrieved it from her, apologizing profusely, hesitant to come near her.

Juri found the fencing hall, hearing the snarl of foils as she approached it. So that was still the same, it seemed. There was a back door, one that led to a storage space from which, with the door open, she could watch the proceedings. The participants were lined against the far wall, jumping one after another to take up a foil and challenge the current leader. He never removed his mask, but she knew Miki's voice, calling out as she had before –

"Next! Next - "

It continued for another ten minutes, before he announced that they were done for the day. The other students, boys and girls, removed their masks, shook out their hair, retired to put away their equipment. Miki stayed behind, as she knew he would, answering questions from lingering students, collecting up the sabers left on the floor and setting them down along the wall closer to her. Juri waited, and waited, keeping just out of sight behind the door, until the last of the students left. He turned away, glancing down, a familiar click ringing through the empty hall –

She set aside her kerchief and glasses, and stepped out, her footsteps echoing over the walls. Miki turned, but went still the moment he locked eyes with her.

"Juri-san?" She wondered if she looked any different. He did sound uncertain. "What are you doing here?"

A few answers sprung to mind. But instead, she knelt down, and lifted one of the foils from the floor.

* * *

"It's not such a big deal, Miki." Kozue barely looked up from the suitcase she was packing, her belongings slowly disappearing from their shared room. "I can always call you. I'll write you every week, okay?"

"I – it's not about that –" Miki's protest felt caught up in his throat. He couldn't understand his sister's cheerfulness, the way she carelessly tossed clothes from her dresser into the open suitcase. "You're dropping out - what are you going to do if you haven't finished your education? How are you going to find a job? Mom and Dad –"

"Oh, Miki –" She stopped what she was doing now, tossing away a last pair of socks and turning to look back at him. He felt a sudden urge to recoil, her eyes were so focused as she approached, and when she lifted her hand for a moment he thought she might hit him. But she raised it to slowly press her palm to his cheek, the tips of her fingers brushing the ends of his hair, her eyes looking straight into his. She stood like this long enough that Miki wondered, dithered – should he move? Say something?

Looking back into her eyes, his mind went blank.

"I know you need more time," she said. "But don't take too long. I'll be waiting for you out there."

Her mouth quirked into a smile, and she lowered her hand, sweeping back toward her packing. Miki couldn't think of anything else to say. He stumbled back toward the door.

The next time he saw Kozue, an upperclassman was helping her carry her bags toward the school gates. She stopped when she spotted him among the porticos, and ran over to him, throwing her arms around him in a hug he barely had time to return before she released him, and shoved a folded up piece of paper into his hands. "See you later, brother."

On the paper, she'd written a phone number, and street address.

She was right, really. It didn't take him much longer. As predicted, Miki finished his studies at Ohtori early. He received several invitations from other institutions, including ones overseas, but decided on a mathematics program in a major university in the capital. He had never wanted to go too far – now he would be a train ride away from both of his parents, in the same city as Kozue again.

He'd thought she'd be happy to hear that, but when he called her to share his decision, she sighed, and Miki couldn't help but hear a note of disappointment in it.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," came the answer. "I just thought you might finally be a little more interesting."

Yet she was at his new dormitory before he arrived. He was never entirely sure how she had done that. She helped him unpack, ran out to buy snacks they could share while they worked. When most of his clothing had been put away, his books stacked on shelves and new notebooks and pens and calculator arranged neatly under the lamp on his desk, Kozue pulled out his old music book, and idly flipped through it.

"Do you think you'll still practice the piano here, Miki?"

He turned back to her, surprised by the question. "Of course. There's a music hall on campus. Why wouldn't I?"

She shrugged, rising from where she was sitting on his bed and closing the book between her hands. "I don't know, I thought you might be a little too busy for that kind of thing now."

Kozue dropped the book on the desk in front of him. "Anyway," she smiled up at him, then retrieved her bag and coat from his chair, and shrugged them on. "I've got to go to work."

Miki nodded, and she walked around him, out the door of his room. It wasn't until she was a ways down the hall that it hit him to ask –

"Wait – where do you work?!"

But again, Kozue had turned out to be right. There was a music hall on campus, with multiple piano rooms that Miki could have visited if he were inclined. There was a fencing team that practiced in the gymnasium twice a week – not highly ranked, but enough of a challenge for him. And yet, he visited neither place. He went to class, studied in his room, studied in the library. He was quickly tutoring other students, most of them older than he was. He was asked by several professors to assist them in their classes. He found a concentration quickly, and just as quickly found that it was all he seemed to want to do.

He made a point to write his parents, to call Kozue. He had planned on visiting his parents on weekends, and yet instead he was in the library, or the faculty lounge, pouring over books, composing lesson plans, drafting papers. And every so often, he thought about calling Juri. He had thought she would call him, but she never did. He wondered if she still visited Ohtori's fencing club, since he left – he doubted it, but still. Now that he had left Ohtori, it was hard for him to imagine what had made her want to come back. There was so much he needed to focus on here, so much he could do now. He had to think she felt the same.

And time passed so quickly. Much like at Ohtori, he gained a reputation around campus for his studiousness, for his kindness as a tutor, for his "genius eccentricities." But he heard none of it. It was a year later and he had exams to think of. Two years later and his thesis kept him at the library late into the night. Three years and he had to be thinking of the future again, of which program he would pursue, of where he would want to work. 'Professor Kaoru' was so inevitable that the other students already used it. He imagined his old friends at Ohtori would have thought that was funny – after all, he had always been the young one when he was there.

Time at Ohtori had moved slowly, he thought now. Sometimes it had felt like it was never moving at all. Even as he grew older, he was still young among his classmates. There had always been more than enough time for everything he could do, classes and music practice and fencing club. Now every moment he had was so easily consumed, and months seem to pass while he was reviewing his notes. And he was old, Kaoru-sensei, even when he actually was younger.

It hit him full in the face one spring evening, late in his third year, as he walked back to his room after another long session in the library. He passed the music hall he had never stepped into, but someone inside had opened a window. From within, the melody, struck gently along the piano keys, wafted like a warm breeze and made him stop in his tracks. Even when the player within hit a false note, there was a sweetness to it. Something that couldn't have been achieved in rote perfection.

He listened under the window for nearly twenty minutes, somehow unable to move. When he heard the piano lid close, he finally took a step forward.

And the moment he reached his room, he tore through it, searching for his old music book. It wasn't like him to lose track of anything, yet he hadn't looked at it in years. Eventually he found it slipped along the bottom row of his bookshelf. He pulled it out, flipping through the pages, ruffling them between his fingers, unsure what he expected to find. But as the pages fluttered, something slipped out, and fell to the floor.

He knelt down to pick it up, and turned it over between his hands. It was a single napkin, printed with a stylized butterfly, and the name and address of restaurant in a distant neighborhood.

Miki went the next day. It was a small place, with bright lights and plastic booths, and glass doors and wide windows that meant he could easily watch what occurred from the outside without ever stepping in. He caught sight of Kozue at once, wearing a navy blue dress uniform and carrying a pitcher. She was smiling as she stepped among the booths and tables. She stopped at one where a man was seated alone, turned away so that Miki couldn't see his face. Kozue refilled his glass. He looked up at her, and must have spoken, because she laughed.

And for the briefest moment, perhaps, her eyes fluttered up, to the window. Or he'd imagined it, but it hit him like a clap of thunder.

Miki turned on his heel and left.

As soon as he reached his room that night, he picked up the phone.

"Yes?" Juri's voice. It had taken so little time, really. "Juri-san, it's me, Miki – Kaoru Mik–"

"I know who you are, Miki," she replied. 

"Right. I – I know it's been some time -"

* * *

The restaurant Juri recommended was beautiful. And, Miki imagined, expensive.

The entire room was made up of varying tones of off-white and soft gold, from the ceiling lamps to the table cloths. Juri arrived, it seemed, to match, wearing a sleek white suit and a gold necklace of slender bars that lengthened as they reached further down her neck. She smiled when she saw him, and he felt rather conscious of his slightly frayed suit jacket and his thin tie – he never found the time to buy new clothes. The thought struck him with a pang of nostalgia for Ohtori, for the ever-present school uniforms.

Juri knew their host and waiter by name, and they were led from the main room, to a table set for two in a more private space. They were handed black leather menus, and the waiter poured two glasses of ice water. Juri ordered white wine after a glance at the list, but Miki chose to stay with water.

And then there were a few moments of silence, strained all the more in the quiet space, the talk from the restaurant barely audible to them. Juri lifted her glass, taking a small sip of her water.

"So, how have you been, Miki?"

That did make things easier. He had plenty to talk about when it came to his studies, his work as a tutor and teaching assistant, his exams, his plans for the future. Juri listened patiently through all of it, and the only brief pause came as they ordered their meals, and then again when their plates were brought out. As he found himself drawing to a close, Miki felt as though he looked up, and to see her wine glass nearly drained, her meal half eaten. His own plate was barely touched. For the first time he noticed the strangely sweet scent coming from the dishes – both looked beautiful and so elegantly presented, but something about that scent made him queasy.

"But –" he said, trying ignore the scent, diligently pressing himself to eat, "I'm sorry, I've talked too much. What are you doing now?"

Juri folded her hands, and shrugged. "This and that. There are a couple projects coming up, and …"

And she seemed to drift off, like she couldn't muster up anything else too important. Miki waited for her to continue, but when the silence lingered –

"Your necklace is very beautiful," he noted. The restaurant's soft lights gave it a constant shimmer. "Was it another gift from a designer?"

"Oh –" She idly reached up toward it with one hand, her fingertips just brushing the slender gold pieces, but her eyes flickered away as her other hand reached for her wine glass. "Yes, it was – a couple years ago…"

Again, she seemed to lose interest in the story before it had begun. Miki waited again, looking down to his meal, not wanting to seem too keen to fill the silence.

"Have you been back to the fencing club, Juri-san?"

He hadn't thought much of asking it, but at once, he knew it was a mistake. Juri's eyes widened, snapping back to him.

"No, Miki, I haven't. Not since you left."

Miki nodded. "I – I was wondering. I thought maybe you –" "What?"

His eyes fell back to his plate. "N-nothing, it's nothing." "Why don't you say what you're thinking, Miki?"

She was watching him intently now. Miki wanted to back out fully from this thread of conversation, knowing from her tone that nothing good would come from it. But he wasn't sure how else to pull away. Without thinking, he slipped into an even more formal tone. "I'm sorry, Arisugawa-san, I didn't mean to upset you."

Again, the moment he said it, he knew it at once it was the wrong thing to say.

Juri's eyes flicked away, and she lifted her wine glass, draining it now.

"So you've been busy. Do you do much outside your class work these days?"

Miki blinked. It wasn't what he was expecting she would ask. "I – I've been working with the faculty, I'm hoping to –"

"Anything else, Kaoru-san. Do you still play the piano? Any sports at your university?"

"I – I've had to focus on –" "Have you got a girlfriend?"

That stopped him cold, and now he could feel a few spurts of anger bubbling up in his stomach.

"That's really personal, Juri-san."

She shrugged. "You look like you haven't been out in a while. Do you even have any friends there?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Juri held up a hand. "I didn't mean to upset you."

He stayed quiet for a moment, stung by this. He had meant well, hadn't he? "Juri-san, I was –" He took a breath. "I was asking because I was worried about you. I didn't understand why you'd go back there."

She shook her head, that small, knowing, aggravating smile flickering over her face. The kind of smile she'd so often had when they were students, when she was making some note of his youthful naiveté. "And maybe you should worry more about yourself. At least Ohtori made you show some nerve once in a while. You were always so lonely, and you still don't seem to understand why."

"Because I don't need to throw around a sword so I won't feel bored with my life now?"

Her smile was gone. The silence stretched on now, and it only took a few seconds for Miki to, again, regret his words. "Juri-san –"

But she was leaning to the side, reaching for her purse. "Maybe this was a bad idea. I'll go pay the check."

"I didn't mean –"

Juri looked back to him. "I know you didn't, Miki." But nonetheless, she rose from her seat. Her eyes were still on him, and they could both hear the footsteps of the host rushing to approach them.

"I hope things keep going well for you."

* * *

Her apartment was dark when she stepped into it, the rainstorm outside tapping against the windows. Juri flipped on the lights without looking around, walking straight across the room to the dining table where she set down her purse and a few pieces of mail. She ran a hand through her hair, shaking herself a little as she shrugged off her coat, and turned to hang it up.

Which is when she saw him. He was leaned against the wall next to the door, his foil lowered in his hand, the stance she had seen him so often before. Juri stopped, her coat still half-hanging from her shoulders.

"Miki – what are you –"

"Showing some nerve?" He raised the foil toward her. She shook her head, a few raindrops slipping loose from her hair.

"I don't even have mine here."

Miki took a step toward her. "I don't believe that."

She glanced down at the foil, and then back up to his face. Slowly, Juri swung the coat from her shoulders, and over her arm. "Look, let me put this away, and I'll show you."

With careful steps, Juri moved across the front room, to the closet by her front door. Miki followed her, foil raised, though still a good distance from her. She turned her back to him as she moved toward the closet, and called, "This is you working up some nerve? I really just thought you might ask out a girl."

"And where is your boyfriend, Arisugawa-san?" 

That, she had to admit, was showing some nerve.

Juri opened the closet door, and stepped in, taking down a hanger to neatly set her coat over it and replace it inside. And then it took her barely a moment to close her hand around her own foil, set against the wall next to her shoes.

She spun, arm out, all strict sporting rules forgotten. This wasn't the fencing hall, this was the arena. There was no such thing as fair play.

As she expected, Miki was caught off guard. Her blade slammed against his, knocking his entirely out of his hand. The foil clattered to the floor, and skittered away from them, sliding to a rest next to her front door. Miki's eyes were wide in shock, and Juri took the moment to rush him, her saber raised so that its point came right up to his throat. She stopped so close to him that Miki stumbled, hitting her table and falling back slightly against it. Juri kept him there for a moment, but then lowered her foil, and also tossed it aside. It hit the floor, and rolled along, next to his.

"Thank you, for that," she said. She only now realized her breath was a little shaky. Her nerves lit with a spurt of adrenaline. Juri clenched her now free hand, and opened it again. "But we have time now."

She took a step back, and nodded her head toward the flat's small kitchen. "Come on," she said. "I'll make tea."

Miki followed her movements, his eyes still wide. But then, he nodded, and straightened from the table.


End file.
